


奇跡

by noljagolcha (daelighthwi), orphan_account



Category: Golden Child (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Historical, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-03-30 09:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13949082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daelighthwi/pseuds/noljagolcha, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: let the blue sky meet the blue sea and all is blue for a time.for donghyun, the colour blue isn't just a pretty hue. it is a promise of a forever in bomin's arms.





	1. of blue hanboks

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks to nikki, my beta reader (co-creator) ♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you may listen to [this](https://youtu.be/By8Iv_TpxCI)!

_「 and I say, I will love you till this life to the next 」_  

Underneath a starry sky, in a soft moonlight deeper than the impenetrable sea, Donghyun fell in love for the first time. Only— he hadn't known it was love. 

  

✩ 

Donghyun was never always a servant in the palace; there was a time where he had been free. He grew up in a small fishing village tucked away in the coast, unknown to those who never made a conscious effort to look for it. 

Playing down by the water's edge, there was nothing he needed to worry about. His days were spent feeling the waves lap against his ankles, kicking seafoam up into the air and watching the remnants drift out to the vast open sea. The sea itself was a shimmering turquoise, a colour that Donghyun familiarised himself with for the 15 years that he lived in the fishing village, singing to the creatures in the deep sea. 

He liked the peace and quiet. He liked the colour blue that he could return to when he was weary, slipping quietly into the cool water and swimming to his heart's content, out far where his troubles could not reach him. 

But such happiness and freedom were never meant to last so long. 

Donghyun's memory is not as sharp as he would have liked it to be, but he does remember being taken away in the middle of the night, fear festering in the pit of his belly, choking on whimpers that slipped out involuntarily and holding back tears that threatened to fall. Then, the bumpy swaying stopped and he was let down from the horse and immediately ushered into a wing of the royal house. 

Firmly, as they rid him of his simple brown hanbok and dressed him in a shimmery pink one tailored perfectly to his size, they told him, "You're going to be one of Prince Bomin's personal attendants— how lucky of you." 

Lucky was being able to stay home, at the fishing village. This was not lucky.

And as Donghyun greeted Prince Bomin, for the first time, under dozens and dozens of shimmering stars, his heart fluttered— but only in the slightest; soon after, his heart hardened with hate for this boy he's barely met but has somehow managed to take everything he held near and dear away from him. 

 

 

"Why are we always stuck wearing every shade of pink, but never blue?" Donghyun petulantly waves his chopsticks around, then sighs, and begins to push his food around his plate unhappily. Although it's been quite a while now since he's begun work at the palace, this is one question that has always lingered at the forefront of his thoughts. 

"Blue dye is hard to make," Jaehyun explains, stealing a piece of meat from his plate, much to Donghyun's chagrin. "It's exclusively for royals." 

"What a shame. I like the colour blue— One of the things I want to do the most is wear a blue hanbok one day." 

Donghyun smacks his hand away sternly, curving a hand around his plate protectively. Jaehyun lets out a soft whoomph of air through his nostrils in response as he always does but relents, turning back to his own food where he begins to pick at the small pieces of egg in his rice. 

"How's working with Prince Bomin?"

Such questions have been asked over and over again until they've become habit. In the palace, where you're not supposed to know anything even if anything happens, there's almost nothing to be said. 

Donghyun shrugs. "Same old. I don't talk to him and he doesn't talk to me."

"At least you don't have to work with Prince Jibeom." Jaehyun sniffs.

Sometimes Donghyun thinks that Jaehyun only asks him questions to follow up with news about himself, but still, he listens, because Jaehyun is his best friend in the palace. 

"He's a bit of a snob, I think. He likes to flaunt his riches. Sometimes when I deliver his food to him, he forbids me to leave until he's done eating." He wheezes, having choked on some sprouts. "He's definitely showing off how much better his food is. Ooh— I think I've lost my appetite just thinking about him." 

Unperturbed, Donghyun continues to eat. "Prince Bomin just gets on my nerves." Chewing thoughtfully, he tries to figure out why exactly is it that Prince Bomin ruffles his hypothetical feathers.

Donghyun has always believed that there is a reason why people are well-liked or hated. Prince Bomin is kind and polite, so it's not that his character is bad or that he repels people with his lack of manners. 

Nor is it that he's ugly. He has a sweet, boyish smile that has left many maids swooning over him and his irresistible charms, and Donghyun can attest to this because he's always being asked to pass love letters on their behalf to the prince. 

(He doesn't.)

But then, what exactly is it?

Then, he catches sight of his reflection in the glazed surface of his ceramic bowl and _ah;_  he gets it now. He resents Prince Bomin, not as a person but because of his privileges. He knows it's unfair— Prince Bomin didn't choose to be born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but that does nothing to lessen the brewing discord between them. Prince Bomin does not know how fortunate he is to have what he does, how much he does. 

Perhaps it is this innocent oblivion that drives the chasm between them deeper still.

 

 

✩

 

Donghyun is doing Prince Bomin's laundry by the softly-flowing creek behind the main wing of the palace when he suddenly calls for him. Yeonwoo, a small mousy girl who looks no older than 15, rushes up to him in a right tizzy. "He's calling for you again," she tells him, "He didn't say why." 

Silently, he holds up a single soaking wet sock. "I'm doing laundry right now, though."

"Prince's orders." 

"I know. Can you take over me for a while?" 

"Okay. But hurry over, it sounded pretty urgent."

Thus, off Donghyun goes, feet thudding heavily over the uneven stone paths as he makes his way towards Prince Bomin's personal chambers as fast as his legs will carry him. 5 minutes later, he stands at the door, breath coming in short puffs as he tries to collect his soul from wherever it has flown to while he ran here. Gathering his composure, he slides the screen door open carefully. 

Padding into the room, he keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, sinking into a kneel within a 2-meter distance from the Prince. "Good afternoon, Jeoha. You requested for me?"

"Aren't you at least going to look at me while you greet me?" Disappointment clouds Prince Bomin's tone. 

"Your Highness," Donghyun begins, clamping down on the annoyance that has begun to make itself evident, "I cannot look a royal in the eyes. It is not proper." 

"I'm telling you to look at me." A hand gently tilts his face upwards until he's staring eye to eye with the Prince.

Donghyun's jaw goes slack and would have dropped, if not for Prince Bomin's fingers still pressing against the underside of his chin. He hadn't even heard him leave his seat.

The Prince smiles sweetly, eyes disappearing into crescent moons. "That's better, isn't it?" He lets go and Donghyun allows his line of sight to drop back to the floor immediately. Sighing, Prince Bomin stands and returns to his seat. 

"May I be so bold as to ask your highness why exactly he called me in today?" He sneaks a glance at the Prince through his eyelashes.

Prince Bomin's expression is unreadable as he averts his eyes elsewhere and mumbles something barely audible. Then, as if grasping at the strands of his courage and pulling them together, he repeats himself a little louder: "I simply wished to talk." 

The wood is painful from where it presses into the fabric of Donghyun's pants uncomfortably, but it is nothing compared to the burning hate welling up from deep within his belly to his throat. His thoughts wander to the accumulating burden of work that he has to finish by today or risk getting scolded- or worse,  _punished_ \- and the dissatisfaction only rises further.

"I don't know if it's just me," Prince Bomin continues, "But you've worked for me for so long and yet we've not spoken more than 5 words to each other at a time— and I'd really love to get to know you more." Hope shines brightly in his eyes as he gazes at Donghyun, who is only one year older than him. "We might even become great friends!" 

Donghyun scoffs inwardly. Friends? Doubtful— acquaintances would be more likely. However, regardless of his opinion, Prince Bomin still holds more authority over Donghyun so he nods, accepting his fate. "Alright, your highness." 

"No, just call me Bomin. We don't need all those honorifics between friends. Oh, and sit! Make yourself comfortable." 

He swallows around the lump (of potential disgust) in his throat while he shifts to sit on the floor. "Yes, B-bomin." It's strange addressing to the next-in-line to the throne like how he would affectionately call anyone in the village who was younger than him and he thinks he may never get used to this. 

Prince Bomin smiles again. "Now that that's over and done with, I want to get to know you more. I'll ask you a question, and then you can ask me one in return! I'll begin: What's your favourite season?" 

"Summer," Donghyun replies, because it is true. Summer means clear blue skies in his favourite shade and the seaside teeming with village children popping by for a swim by the coral reefs. He remembers not ever having to feel lonely around summertime, where even the birds would come by to hold conversations with him on special days. "It is my turn to ask you a question. What is yours?" 

"Winter," Bomin sighs contentedly, "The snow makes everything look ten times more beautiful than it already was." He claps twice excitedly. "Okay, I'll ask you a question now! Who's your best friend in the palace?" 

Without hesitation, Donghyun replies, "Prince Jibeom's servant, Jaehyun." He doesn't even need to think twice about this. "What about you, Prince Bomin?" 

"My best friend?" A conflicted look flits across Bomin's features and he rests his cheek on his palm, deep in thought. "Why, I- I don't know. I don't really get to mingle with anyone here at all. I suppose I'm friends with anyone I talk to, but- no, not really, I don't have anyone to share my innermost thoughts with." He taps the side of his head. "I would tell my mother... but she has always been so busy with royal duties that she's never really had time for me. But that's okay." A wan smile tugs at the corner of Prince Bomin's lips. "I've got you... right?"

 

 

✩  

  

As time passes, brushing past his shoulders unapologetically, Donghyun finds himself busier and busier as the festivities for Bomin's birthday approaches. He now rushes from place to place with Prince Bomin, choosing the gifts for the advisors and their children, selecting dishes to be served and sending invitations to the royals that live in far away kingdoms. 

"Your Highness," he calls softly, standing outside of the screen door in his simple pale yellow hanbok, "It is time to wake up." 

No response. 

"Your Highness?" Donghyun steps in, having nudged the door open by just a fraction, "You have to get up now, or we will not be able to finish the invitations for the other royalty in time."

Prince Bomin still does not stir, so he pads quietly to his side and lays a small hand on his quilt. This is the closest he's ever been to the prince, so close that he can count every individual strand of hair framing his small face, so close that every minuscule imperfection and blemish is magnified (but Donghyun does not care about that.) "Your Highness?" 

All of a sudden, Bomin's eyes open sleepily, and as they drift over Donghyun's face, his lips curve up to form a small sweet smile. He wraps an arm around Donghyun's neck, pulling him down on top of the  _yo_ beside him, and pins him down. For a sweet, blessed moment, all is quiet and Donghyun briefly contemplates staying forever, here in the safe warmth. 

Then, reality comes rushing back to him and he frantically tries to wriggle out of the Prince's grasp.

"Your Highness, I can't be seen in the same bed as you—!" 

"I thought I told you to call me Bomin." The Prince's voice is much deeper from the lack of use in the morning and it sends shivers down Donghyun's spine. He continues to struggle, thrashing here and there, but for someone only half-awake, Bomin's grip is strong and he finds himself completely unable to extract himself from this sticky situation.

"Bomin, you have to let me go— if we're caught like this by the wrong person, then I could be arrested!" 

"No one's going to walk in on us. Give me five more minutes." 

"Bomin— Interacting inappropriately with a royal as a servant means the death penalty!"

"It's safe," Bomin murmurs, already slipping into dreamland. He yawns like a kitten, arching his back slightly as he rolls over, dragging Donghyun even further down until he's lying parallel to himself and then, finally, bids him a soft good morning. 

They do not manage to leave Prince Bomin's chambers until the blazing sun is high in the sky.

  

 

 Whenever Donghyun is met with an insurmountable task, without fail, he will seek Jaehyun's assistance. This time is no exception.

"I'm telling you," Jaehyun languidly draws circles in the sand in front of their sleeping quarters with the dim light shining down on them from a single lamp hanging overhead, "A good present would be something he likes." 

"Something he likes?" Donghyun kicks at the ground, messing up Jaehyun's perfectly drawn shapes. Today, his muscles are uncharacteristically "But that would probably be something expensive. I don't have the money to buy him anything." 

Levelling him with an unimpressed stare, Jaehyun shoves Donghyun with his shoulder roughly and turns his attention back to the piles of dirt. Absentmindedly, he instructs Donghyun to simply ask the Prince what he'd like. If not, ask for something he's recently begun to learn to do. It'll be easier to figure out something to gift to him then. "Something he can use is better than something he only can admire." He points out.

The cogs in Donghyun's brain turn slowly as he processes this information. He resolves to ask Bomin what he enjoys in the morning. 

As it turns out, Prince Bomin's interests lie in painting. "It's a good way to express my emotions." He says when asked, "Why?" 

"Nothing special." Comes Donghyun's bland reply. As the days flew by, he eventually came to realise that Prince Bomin's life is not as picture-perfect as it appears to be. He knows that loneliness often surges through every crevice left unfilled with the royal duties Bomin has to attend to as Crown Prince and for once, he starts to pity the young prince, thrust into taking the place of the King in the future, something that he may never live up to. "I just wanted to know." 

And thus begins Donghyun's journey. Come the end of the week, he makes his way down to the village square to hunt for paints for Bomin. 

"Here," the store owner says, "I have paint in all the colours of the rainbow." 

Bowing politely, Donghyun carefully checks the prices of the paint and counts the coins in his hand. As his personal attendant, he knows exactly what paint Bomin has and which he's run out of, and he has exactly enough to buy some to replace them and one more shade. 

Carefully, he selects them, pointing them out to the kind store owner who wraps them up for him with a smile. "For a girlfriend?" 

Donghyun bashfully shakes his head no. "Just a friend." 

  

 

"Bomin? There's an extra invitation." 

Prince Bomin hums as he leans over and takes the envelope from Donghyun's outstretched hand. "No, I counted exactly 89." 

"That's where the issue lies— there's only supposed to be 88." He scratches his head in confusion. "I've matched up the number of invitations to the specific members of each royal family across the nations, how is there one more?" 

"It's yours."

"What?"

"It's yours," Prince Bomin repeats, "I officially invite you, my personal companion, to join in the festivities for my birthday." 

Donghyun blinks. This is not something unusual. These days, Bomin has been surprising him in the strangest ways, and while it is not entirely unwelcome, he is caught unawares, so he is often left speechless. "Ah. Did I not have to in the first place?"

"No, this is a special one to celebrate my 19th birthday. Only those with this letter with the royal seal can come in, and so I'm giving one to you." In a rare moment of vulnerability, Bomin ducks his head. "And I'd really love if you could come and spend the day with me." 

"I'll try." Donghyun accepts the invitation from Prince Bomin and tucks it away neatly into the folds of his hanbok. The royal seal is made of a glimmering blue wax, a splash of sapphire against old, yellowed parchment. The paper is as light as a feather— yet it is the weightiest thing Donghyun has ever carried with him throughout all 20 years of his life.

"I'll be expecting you, so— so please come." Bomin clasps Donghyun's hands in his own, dark eyes already glimmering with expectancy. Although conflicted, he cannot bring himself to let Bomin down.

"Do we have to wear anything specific? Since everyone there is a royal, do I h-have to wear blue?" 

"Do you want to?" Bomin raises an eyebrow. "It isn't allowed, but we can just tell the others that you're a Prince from some imaginary kingdom."

The urge to shout _yes!_  to Prince Bomin is overpowering, but he knows that if either of them were to get caught, both would get into a kind of trouble much greater than the extent that Prince Bomin's position can protect them to.

"No. It's fine." 

(It really isn't.)

"Then, will you come?" Bomin asks hopefully and Donghyun melts.

He agrees, nodding at Bomin with a certainty that he doesn't even feel within himself.

 

  

In the end, he doesn't go for Bomin's birthday party. 

But later, as they meet under a starry sky much like the one he'd met Bomin under for the first time, a wave of shyness crashes over him as he daintily wraps Bomin's arms around his gift.

"Do you like it? It cannot compare to what you must have received today at the festivities, but I chose some colours I knew you would love." 

Bomin doesn't say a word even after he unties the tight knot holding the cloth that binds the gift together, fingers lightly skimming over the painted surfaces of the miniature jars holding the vibrant hues of paint gently. Donghyun's heart thrums with anticipation as he waits with bated breath for the prince's reaction. But still, it does not come.

"Do— do you not like it?" 

"No," Bomin shakes his head, shoulders quivering faintly, "No, I just— you could say that I like it too much. How did you know that what I wanted the most were new paints?" Carefully, as if Donghyun were a mere mirage which would vanish with the slightest caress, he pulls him close into a tight hug. 

"Of course I'd know what you'd want! What do you take me for?"

"A friend," Bomin says, voice muffled against Donghyun's neck. "You're my best friend." 

 

 

✩  

  

"Are you dating the Prince?" Jaehyun asks bluntly with zero tact when they meet as the two Princes gather in the garden to talk. They sit in the pavilion for privacy sipping tea from porcelain teacups while Donghyun and Jaehyun sit by the lake, swatting at butterflies. 

"No! Where did that come from?" He splutters, flustered. Slowly, a blush creeps up his neck as his eyes travel to Prince Bomin laughing freely with his brother, Prince Jibeom, and he sighs, shaking his head. Even if he does fancy Bomin, the fact remains: he's a lowborn; there is absolutely no way he can cross the thin divide between his poverty and Bomin’s wealth. 

"But you're always hanging around him." Jaehyun shifts, picking up a stone and skipping it across the water. Their eyes follow the curvature of its path until finally, it sinks. 

"Well— so are you. Wherever Prince Jibeom is, you are." Donghyun's tone is accusatory as he stares at Jaehyun, daring him to contradict him.

"We're dating." Jaehyun's reply is so soft, it's barely audible. "That's why I'm always hanging around him. It's because he wants to keep me close." Jaehyun pulls at a weed sticking out from amongst the flowers. "And I'm familiar with what it looks like. That sort of—  _longing_ , where it's like reaching for something just barely out of reach." He hesitates, flushing red, "I want to tell you that before it's too late, you have to grab that chance. So you can spend time with him, you know? And not be left with any regrets." 

"Did something happen?"

"I wish nothing did." His voice is pained as he looks at Donghyun with tears brimming in his eyes. Realisation dawns on Donghyun seconds too late.

"Oh—"

"Prince Jibeom is getting married. Soon, I think. I don't know when, and I don't want to know." The first tear slips through Jaehyun's eyelids which are tightly pressed together, leaving behind a wet trail of hopelessness as it tracks down his cheek. "It's to Princess Dabin of Baekje and I—" Jaehyun promptly dissolves into uncontrollable sobs and Donghyun rushes to soothe him, patting him comfortingly on the back. Biting his lip, his eyes travel back upwards to the pavilion where Prince Bomin sits and their gazes lock. 

Donghyun's heart twinges as Bomin blinks at him sadly, the fleeting wind ruffling the loose strands of hair briefly before disappearing. 

His attention is drawn back to Jaehyun when he tugs insistently on Donghyun's collar. "I'm not saying that you shouldn't allow yourself to get close to him." He chokes on his tears, pleading with Donghyun. "You must— you  _cannot_ , at all cost, end up like me. Don't end up losing your love before it's even given a chance to blossom."  

 

  

"What happened to Jaehyun?" Bomin asks as they return to his chambers. "It looked pretty serious from where I was sitting with Jibeom." 

Donghyun winces. After Bomin and Jibeom had wrapped up their conversation, they were whisked away to the library, where Donghyun was made to tidy up the books while Bomin received lessons from the scholars. There had been no window of time for Donghyun to mull over their current predicament, but now, as Bomin stares at him with something other than just worry for his servant, he is forced to return to his complicated thoughts on the matter. 

He cannot offer Bomin a reply when he does not have one for himself in the first place. He opts to keep his mouth shut, busying his hands with the canvases lying in the corner by the small wooden table. 

"Wait, no— Donghyun, don't touch that!"

It is too late. 

The first canvas is a pretty painting of an orange hummingbird in flight. Its fiery plumage was captured perfectly, every minute detail painted with steady precision, Bomin having breathed life into a simple memory of the bird. Donghyun remembers this. He pointed it out to the prince the day right after the festival for Bomin's birthday, the prince having insisted on taking a walk with him around the palace alone to make up for missing the festival the night before. 

The second canvas steals Donghyun's breath away. It is a simple sketch of the bridge that hangs over the lake. Colours stretch across the canvas, a splash of ruby red against a deep blue of the night sky being the hanbok of the small, painted figure of Prince Jibeom holding onto Jaehyun as they share a quiet moment under the moon on a silent night with the lake lapping gently against the bridge. The artwork is painted with such care that it even makes Donghyun ache for the two who he knows can never be together. 

Before he can take a good look at the third, however, Prince Bomin is snatching them away and hugging them close to his chest. "It's n-nothing important that y-you should see," he stammers, backing away from Donghyun slowly, "It isn't that great at all and I wouldn't want you to look at it—"

But Donghyun has already seen it.

In the short glimpse that he'd managed to steal, he'd noticed that it was an unfinished sketch. Bomin had just barely finished tracing over the slim hands that rested daintily on a colourless hanbok that had yet to be filled in, and by the darkness of the lines and the faint outline of lines pressing into the paper, Donghyun can see that he'd spent the most time on the face, filling in the features with deft flicks of the wrist with much care. 

"Bomin-ah," Donghyun calls softly, "It's okay. Let me see it. "

For a brief moment, Bomin hesitates, looking at Donghyun through panic-stricken eyes. 

"Okay," he relents, smoothing a hand over the canvas as he hands it over with care. After Donghyun takes it from him with a whispered ' _thank you_ ', he diverts his eyes to the ground, as if ashamed of his artwork. 

And as Donghyun gets a good look at the final painting, he lets out a breath of air that he hadn't even known he was holding with a whoosh. The soft cheeks, almond-shaped eyes, they're filled in with such precision and love that clearly bleeds out through the paper and Donghyun's heart is so, so full. Then, as he finally takes notice of the entire painting as a whole, the narrow build and the slim shoulders melt together to form a person and—

His breath hitches. 

That's him, in the painting.

 

 

"You're my muse," Bomin explains later when asked. He didn't talk to Donghyun directly for a week after he'd seen the painting. "Look— I'm sorry I painted you without your permission."

The mere thought of being Bomin's muse makes his head spin. With a pained grimace, he nods once to acknowledge the Prince and goes back to spacing out. 

"You're not mad at me, are you?" Bomin laughs nervously, "That would be a disaster. I'm terribly sorry."

Donghyun shakes his head and turns away obstinately. 

Bomin said that he was his muse, which meant trouble because that opened way for the slight possibility of feelings for him; but surely, Bomin knew better than to fall for a lowborn?

But what if he didn't know he was in love? 

"Bomin-ah," Donghyun begins uncertainly. "Do you like me?" Immediately, as Bomin's smile falls, he knows it was a bad idea; stupid, stupid, stupid, he shouldn't have asked—

"Of course I like you," Bomin furrows his eyebrows, "You're my best friend."

"No, do you _like_ me? Like, _like_ -like." Donghyun reaches for Bomin's hand and turns it palm-side up, tracing the lines etched into the soft skin languidly. "It's when you get butterflies in your stomach for someone, but it's the good sort of butterflies. When they smile at you— _God_ , you just want it to last forever. Because you feel so warm inside just knowing that that special someone is happy." 

Gently, Prince Bomin reaches his hand up to cradle Donghyun's cheek. "If that's what it means to like somebody, then I think I'm in love with you."

"And you don't care?" Donghyun responds weakly.

"Don't care about what?"

"That I can never wear the colour blue. That I'm neither a royal nor have a lot of riches. That I'm a lowborn." Donghyun lowers his head. "You can't possibly like someone like me. I— I'm not worthy of you."

"Don't say that," Bomin whispers sternly. "To me, you're the entire universe. No star in the skies can ever compare to how dazzlingly bright you are. Your status doesn't matter to me at all, and I'm sure you know that."

Donghyun admits that he does. 

In fact, he's always known— it's been obvious in the way Prince Bomin would gently sneak him some sugary sweets which he would otherwise be unable to touch, and in the way that he could press close to Donghyun, so close that he can feel his warmth through his hanbok, as they walk back to his chambers together after a day's activities.

But it's the fear that they'll be caught doing something wrong in a palace that values things that are right. Living life in a palace where rules are strictly enforced, he knows them by heart.

 

_No wearing blue unless you're of royal descent or you could lose your life._

_No getting romantically involved with a royal, or you could lose your life._

 

"We can't." Even to his own ears, he sounds panicked. "You cannot—"

"What can't I do? I'm the Prince!" 

"And that is precisely why you cannot! You're supposed to get married to a pretty Princess and become the next King, you cannot be held back by anything like me! If we get caught then—" 

"What would we even get caught for? There's nothing going on between us!" Bomin's temper is flaring and this is the first time Donghyun has ever seen him like this. It scares him a little. "Even if you don't like me in the way that I like you, let me love you from afar!" Donghyun's breath catches in his throat as Bomin leans in closer until he's staring directly into his eyes. "Please just let me be selfish this once."

"It's not that I don't like you in that way, it's that the stakes are too high!" Donghyun's on the verge of tears and his voice cracks towards the end. Scrubbing at his eye with his sleeve, he turns away sadly. "And because of that, I can never let myself be with you in the way we both want to." 

"Donghyun, stop thinking about others and put yourself first for once!" Bomin pleads, gripping his shoulders tightly. "Don't you think it's better to get what you and I both want, even if it's for a short while than never to have it at all? Please—"

 _Don't end up losing your love before it's given a chance to blossom_. Jaehyun's voice rings in Donghyun's head until it is all he can hear, and finally, he goes limp, legs giving way underneath him and he nearly falls, if not for Prince Bomin gathering him into his arms and steadying him. 

"Okay then," he whimpers, "We'll try this out but I know we won't make it to the end. We won't." 

"I'm willing to give it a shot," Bomin whispers fiercely. "Even if it's just a vain dream, I'm willing to give it a try." 

 

 

✩ 

 

"What are you doing?" 

Bomin doesn't even look up from the task at hand. "I'm building a house."

"Of cards?" Donghyun tilts his head to the side questioningly. "But that won't last." As the words leave his mouth, a strong gust of wind blows in from the screen door left ajar from where he'd entered, knocking the cards over. Unhappily, Bomin glares at Donghyun. But intense as the glare may be, there is not a single semblance of resentment, but only love and warmth swimming in the depths of his eyes.

"Oh, sorry," Donghyun chuckles nervously. 

Shrugging, Bomin pats the cushion right next to his. "Come here." Donghyun obeys, padding over and sitting down cross-legged beside him. "I'm building it by the side so that we won't have to move it later on. Then it will definitely last longer than you believe it will." He smiles sweetly at Donghyun, leaning down to give him a little kiss on the cheek, which he gladly accepts. "Want to help me?" 

The afternoon passes by in a whirl of laughter and card houses, rebuilding them over and over again when they collapse under the slightest pressure, the only thing lingering on his mind for days after is the soft warmth of Bomin's hands on his. 

 

 

The next time he sees Jaehyun, it's a month before Prince Jibeom's wedding ceremony, and all attendants are helping Princess Dabin move into the Wangsil. Autumn leaves crunch underfoot as they make their way through the gardens, carrying one of many chests full of Princess Dabin's hanboks. 

"How are you doing these days?" He inquires, peeking at Jaehyun as they struggle to lift the large and heavy chest up the winding stone staircase.

"Not as well as I'd like to be," Jaehyun admits huffily, scratching at his nose, a habit that he never really managed to quit since they'd both arrived at the palace together. "Everything's just frustrating these days. I want to be angry but I can't. Because Princess Dabin is too nice. There's nothing to get angry at." 

Donghyun shakes his head. "I'm sorry I can't help."

"This isn't your fault," he sighs, "I'm just upset that I couldn't have more time with him. There was a lot more that I wanted to do with him, like show him around my village and introduce him to my mother one day but I guess Fate decided otherwise." They set the chest down on the stairs leading up to Prince Jibeom and Princess Dabin's future house and take a seat beside it. "I am still happy for all the moments that he gave to me." Jaehyun rubs his hands together in the bitter cold. 

"Enough about me," He sniffles, steeling himself. "What about you and Prince Bomin?" 

"Not this again," Donghyun groans, "There's nothing going on between us." 

"Still?" Jaehyun raises an eyebrow suspiciously. "I saw him giving you a kiss in the garden last night when you returned. Honestly, shouldn't you be escorting him back to his room and not the other way around? He's the Crown Prince, for goodness sakes. It's him who needs more protection." 

"He insisted on it!" Donghyun protests, then claps a hand over his mouth, having realised a fraction of a second too late that he'd just fallen into a trap and given verbal confirmation of their budding relationship to a smug Jaehyun. 

"Gotcha." 

"Shut up!" He smacks Jaehyun's arm hard. "Don't mention this to anyone, or I swear I will—" 

"Okay, okay," Jaehyun laughs, then turns solemn. "Just because I can't have my happiness doesn't mean I'll make sure you can't either." 

 

 

As usual, servants are not allowed into royal ceremonies, especially one as important as a marriage ceremony, so Donghyun occupies himself in Prince Bomin's room once again to pass the time by tidying things up.

Although seemingly perfect, Bomin does have his flaws— one of them being a horrid knack for leaving his things around carelessly. He snickers to himself as the thought occurs to him that it was fitting for Bomin to be born a Prince; since all of his needs would be taken care of before he even had to ask. 

"Donghyun? Are you in there?" 

"I am!" He calls back, getting to his feet to welcome the Prince back. "How was the wedding ceremony?" 

Bomin laughs shakily. "Melancholic. Jibeom kept glancing at the door, almost as if he was trying to run away from his fate." Sadly, he wraps Donghyun up in a hug, resting his chin on top of Donghyun's head. "Eventually," he sighs, rocking back and forth on his heels ever so slightly, "I'll have to get married. But I'll only do that when I'm King, and then I'll change the laws to make it so that I can marry whoever I want. And then, I'll marry you." 

Donghyun leans away slightly to stare at him with wide-eyes. "Who said anything about marrying you?" 

"Don't you want to?" Bomin hums, nuzzling his nose against Donghyun's lovingly, "I'd love to grow old with you by my side, in this palace. Imagine that— everything will be nice and peaceful as they should be." 

"Yah, life doesn't work that way. We might not even work out in the end." 

Bomin tsks sharply. "Don't say that." He wraps his arms tighter around Donghyun. "You've got to imagine and dream— only then will the world change to how you want it to be." 

"Okay then," Donghyun murmurs as he lets his eyes slip shut in bliss, enjoying the comforting warmth radiating from Bomin, "I'll allow myself to dream this once. Even if it's a useless dream."

Even if this dream will never come true, he'll try to pretend that it will. 

 

 

✩

 

But try as he might, the universe has other plans for him.

Jaehyun pulls him aside anxiously one day and they quickly duck behind the stone pavilion as the winter winds nip at their cheeks, causing their eyes to smart.

"What is it," Donghyun sniffles irritably, pulling his hanbok tighter around himself, "I have to go see Prince Bomin, winter's his favourite season and we were planning on going to take a walk in the snow—" His voice tapers off at the end, finally noticing the way Jaehyun is pacing around the tiny space. From the lines of worry etched into his best friend's forehead, Donghyun can immediately tell that something is surely amiss. A shiver runs down his spine as dread courses through his blood, waiting with bated breath for Jaehyun to bring terrible, terrible news. 

"I think you should lay off the affection a little while," Jaehyun begins, scratching his red nose, "Or just tell Prince Bomin not to do it so openly."

"What do you mean?" 

"I'm not the only one who sees those looks he gives you— we're not all dumbly oblivious like you," Jaehyun snaps, "Look, I told you to not let him go but stop being so obvious. His favouritism shows clearly and the fact that you keep sneaking out in the middle of the night and only return in the wee hours of the morning adds to their suspicion. Be careful, okay?" 

Donghyun blinks, alarmed. He hadn't known that they'd been so close to having their secret exposed and quite frankly, it scares him more than it should. 

"I don't know if the other servants know what we both know you're up to, but I know that they aren't happy. I hope you know what I mean, and that I'm in no way telling you to stop or anything, I— I'm just telling you to be careful." 

"I am careful, and I know what I'm doing, Jaehyun. You don't have to worry." 

Jaehyun looks at Donghyun. "I really hope you do, because I lost Jibeom. And I cannot lose you too." 

 

 

When Donghyun finally returns, Prince Bomin is already waiting for him underneath the great gingko nut tree. His usual entourage of attendants are gone and he rushes over, coat flapping in the breeze behind him as his feet gain traction on the icy path. "Sorry I'm late," he huffs, "I got distracted on the way." 

Bomin laughs, a deep, sonorous sound that reverberates around the snowy landscape, soaring over the frosty treetops and up to the clear blue sky. Casually, he wraps an arm around Donghyun, pressing him into his side lovingly. Just as he leans down to plant a kiss on Donghyun's lips, he turns his head quickly, and Bomin's lips miss their mark and land on his cheek instead. 

Immediately, as Bomin pulls away with confusion swimming in his dark chocolate orbs, Donghyun flinches when Bomin's hand drops from his shoulder and he shifts just out of reach as if stung. "I— I think we should stop." 

"Stop? But we've barely begun." Bomin reaches for Donghyun's hand but he snatches it away. 

"No," Donghyun gasps, the cold air stinging the back of his throat, bringing tears to his eyes. "No— we cannot. The other servants are beginning to talk and—"

"Is that what this is all about?" Bomin's tone is stern as he crosses the distance between them with two strides. "You're saying we should end it, pretend that nothing happened between us—" 

"The others know and they aren't happy, what if they tell on us? This is a dangerous game we're playing— if either of us is caught, the consequences are heavy!" 

"It's a game I dare to play. You and I both know that we don't have much time before my mother begins to look for a bride for me like she did for Prince Jibeom. Our days are numbered, why aren't you willing to try and build a forever with me with the time we do have left?" 

Donghyun doesn't respond, turning his head away so Prince Bomin won't see the tears misting his eyes and clouding his vision. "It's not that I don't want to." 

"Then stop holding yourself back. There's nothing to be afraid of." He smiles softly. "If it worries you so much, then I won't do this in public anymore."

"Do what?" Donghyun furrows his eyebrows in confusion. "Do you actually mean that you'll stop—"

All of a sudden, his head is tilted up, snowflakes falling gently onto his face, and Bomin's lips are on his, cutting off his flow of words. Whatever else he had to say dies down in his throat as he kisses back, arms snaking around Bomin's neck to anchor himself to reality; yet the harder he holds on, the further and further his minds drifts from how wrong this should be to how right it feels.

His heart is so warm, so full of love that it could burst. 

And he decides that if time were to freeze, there would be no other moment more perfect than this one that they're sharing. 

Under the falling snow, surrounded by frosty trees in a winter wonderland, the ice hardening Donghyun's heart melts, and he falls in love with Bomin once again. Only— this time he knows it is love. 

 

 

✩

 

"Donghyun's birthday is coming soon," Bomin says as he stands in front of Jaehyun, wringing his hands together, "Do you know what he would like?" 

Spring is quickly approaching, the scent of blooming  _mugunghwa_ from the royal gardens being carried on the warm breeze throughout the palace grounds. 

Jaehyun pauses, hands freezing in the midst of wiping down the wooden tables that Prince Jibeom had just used for lunch with Princess Dabin. Looking at him, Bomin cannot help but feel pangs of pity for this boy, having to play personal attendant to the newlyweds and being forced to acknowledge their marriage, as if the pain of losing his first love was not enough. 

"He isn't very picky. He finds joy in the smallest things, like the beauty of the world, colours and flowers." Jaehyun shrugs, going back to the task at hand. Then, he looks at Prince Bomin with slight apprehension, almost as if he's forgotten to tell him something of utmost importance. "Take care of him." 

His voice is choked with emotion. "Donghyun is the only other person in this palace that means a lot to me."

He doesn't have to elaborate further. The unspoken name  _Kim Jibeom_ hangs like a balance in between them both.

Jaehyun continues, "I don't care if you're the Crown Prince, if you hurt him, I— well, forgive me for being so bold but— I'd end you. Please don't make me have to." 

"I won't," Bomin reassures him gently, already hating the thought of Donghyun crying  _because_ of him. "Until the stars stop die out and the Sun itself stops shining, I won't let a single tear fall from his eyes." And, as an afterthought— "Prince Jibeom still loves you, you know?" 

"He does?" Jaehyun looks unconvinced, a grimace already beginning to mar his features. 

"He tells me every day that he wishes he could rewrite history and get married to you instead," Bomin shakes his head, "But it is too bad that he cannot." 

"Tell him it doesn't matter." Jaehyun says, "It would do him much more good to love Princess Dabin than me. He should live happily from now on." 

"Do you really want me to tell him that?" Bomin's eyes search Jaehyun's face for any emotion, but he gives away none. 

"If he loves me— tell him to let me go."

 

  

Bomin finds Donghyun sitting underneath the gingko tree, holding onto a miniature ceramic jar, staring into the distance. The grass is slightly damp with morning dew and yet he doesn't seem to mind, enjoying the cool spring breeze that stirs the melting snow on the uppermost layer. 

"What are you looking at?" 

This startles him, and he turns to look at Bomin with large eyes, but the surprise melts from his features and they smoothen into a relaxed smile as he holds his hands out. "Hello." 

"Hello to you too." Bomin accepts the hug and takes a seat beside Donghyun. "What's that?" 

"Oh, this?" He juggles it casually from palm to palm. "Ah— right, it's for you." He hands the pot to Bomin, patting his arm for good measure and winks. "I noticed that you were quickly running out of blue paint, so I went and got you some." 

"Wouldn't that have been expensive?" Bomin gently lifts the tiny lid of the pot, and true enough, Donghyun had gotten him the darkest, midnight blue. A dye of this intensity must have cost him a fortune. 

"It was worth it. You look happiest when you're painting." Lovingly, Donghyun rubs off a smudge of red paint where it had gotten on Bomin's cheek probably after he'd wiped the sweat off his face carelessly with his hand earlier in the morning, painting the sun as it began its slow ascent into the sky over the palace. 

Bomin holds his hand there, relishing the softness of Donghyun's skin against his. "Thank you." 

"It's the least I can do for you," he responds, "You've given me almost everything I could ever ask for." 

"Almost everything?" Bomin blinks. What could there possibly be that he'd failed to provide for him?

"You haven't failed at all—" Donghyun assures him rapidly, "It's just that I'd really love to wear a blue hanbok one day and— well, right now that is the only thing I'd ask for. To feel like a prince, just for a day." 

"That's a risky thing to ask for," Bomin sighs, "What happened to the scaredy-cat Donghyun I know?" He teases, poking him in the side.

Laughing, Donghyun shies away from his touches. "Stop that, I'm ticklish— He's still here, just a little more daring. We're already playing the most dangerous game of them all, why not raise the stakes a little more?"

 

 

And raise the stakes they did. 

Over the passing days, Bomin's collection of paintings grew. He painted the scenery around him, sometimes the  _mugunghwa_ , sometimes the squirrels that would dart around the palace grounds in pairs or even the tranquil village illuminated by thousands of glowing lamps, a sight that he'd go to see together with Donghyun sometimes when they didn't have anything particularly pressing to finish. 

However, his favourite thing to paint was his muse and inspiration— Donghyun himself. He painted Donghyun relaxing under the gingko nut tree with his eyes closed on a lazy day; Donghyun on the makeshift swing by the servant's quarters, the loose cloth on his hanbok billowing in midair as he laughed out loud, free and happy.

Donghyun, on the other hand, started to find particular delight in his night journeys— sneaking out to Prince Bomin's quarters became a sort of routine that he's gotten used to. As he somehow began to receive fewer tasks to accomplish, he gained the luxury of sleeping in a little later than normal, and he'd often fall asleep in Prince Bomin's room, swaddled up in layers of blankets, held in the Prince's arms.

One morning, Prince Bomin had woken up to find that Donghyun had managed to fall asleep on his sleeve in the middle of the night and would not budge, muttering quietly to himself in his sleep about  _tteok_ and  _pat_ ,and Bomin had been so endeared by this that he simply reached for a pair of shears lying on the nightside table and cut his sleeve off, preferring to sacrifice a near-priceless garment than to wake his peacefully sleeping lover.

Dead to the world, Donghyun slumbered on, blissfully unaware of the steadily-rising blood pressure of the palace tailor losing her hair over the ruined silk. 

 

  

"Good morning love," Bomin whispers, gently pressing a kiss to the corner of Donghyun's lips. "Happy birthday." 

Sleepily, Donghyun rolls over, cracking open one eye to glare weakly at him. "5 more minutes," he whines, curling into himself, "My birthday can wait." 

"My present can't," he whispers back, pulling Donghyun to his feet with a heave. A sleepy Donghyun is a clingy Donghyun, and he attaches himself to Bomin's back before the prince can react. Yawning, he mumbles an "I love you" into the soft blue silk of Bomin's hanbok and snuffles, only bothering to open his eyes once Bomin has eased him into a chair and placed a plate of hot  _tteok_ on his lap. 

"It's  _pat_ , your favourite." The sugared icing causes fine snow to rain down upon their nightclothes as Bomin lifts a piece to Donghyun's lips with caution, dusting them with a fine layer of white. 

"How'd you know they were my favourite?" He slurs, chewing thoughtfully on the rice cake. 

"I know all there is to know about you. Like that you like the colour blue because it's the colour of the sea. Or that you like summer because the sky is blue and the flowers bloom and there is so much more to do when the weather is warm." Bomin surreptitiously brushes aside the icing that had fallen onto Donghyun's lap. "I have more surprises planned for you today, so eat up." 

He guides another piece of  _tteok_ to Donghyun's mouth and he accepts it with a small giggle, chewing much more enthusiastically once he's had time to wake up. "Did you make these yourself?" 

"I wish I did," Bomin says, "But you know how I am in the kitchen—"

"—A complete disaster." Donghyun agrees, finishing up the last piece of  _tteok_. "I'm going to get changed, then we can go where you want to."

He begins to scramble to his feet but is stopped by Bomin, who places a hand on his and gently guides him back onto the cushion. "No need for that. We aren't going anywhere right now." 

Donghyun regards his own nightclothes with a look of confusion. "But I'd eventually have to change out of these, I can't stay in them forever. It's against the rules." 

Bomin snaps his fingers then turns around to his own chest of clothes. "You're going to change into these," he says, slowly spinning around and placing a folded bundle of clothes into Donghyun's arms. "We can't go out while you're dressed in those so we're just going to stay in today." He winks. 

Full of curiosity, Donghyun unrolls the bundle and lets out a tiny gasp.

It's a flowing sky blue hanbok, with beautiful gold flowers and leaves embroidered on the sides, like golden drops of the sun's rays have dropped into the clear aquamarine sea of his memories. As the soft morning light shining through the window hits the embroidery, it reflects the sunlight, glowing like a thousand dazzling stars. He looks at Bomin with joy written all over his face. 

"I can wear this?" His lower lip trembles as he lets out an incredulous laugh. "This— I— What?" 

"It's my first surprise." Bomin nudges him. "Go on, put it on." 

"Can I really? This isn't a joke?" 

"I promise it isn't. Go behind the screen there, I'll wait for you here." Placing a hand on the small of Donghyun's back, he guides him to the screen, then makes shooing motions with his hands. Donghyun laughs and disappears, eyes twinkling with mirth. 

The hanbok is Bomin's and thus too big when he puts it on, his entire arm practically disappearing into sleeves as the ends flop uselessly over his hands. The pants are one size too big for his skinny frame and are inches too long, the cuffs pooling around his ankles as he stands there, turning in circles to look at the way it drapes nicely over him. He hugs himself, hardly able to contain his excitement.

As he shuffles out shyly, hiking up the loose bunches of fabric around his legs, Prince Bomin immediately sinks into a playful bow. "Welcome, Prince Donghyun of Goryeo." He straightens up and holds out his arm for Donghyun to take. "Shall we sit for some tea?" 

Overwhelmed, Donghyun doesn't immediately take his arm. "What are you doing?" He scrunches up his nose, "You shouldn't be bowing to me! You're the Crown Prince, while I'm only a lowborn—"

"A lowborn! Imagine that! Prince Donghyun? A lowborn? Ridiculous!" Bomin continues to feign ignorance, talking as if he's been deceived his whole life and moves to hustle Donghyun down at the table where Jaehyun is watching them bemusedly with a steaming pot of tea and some cakes. 

"Pretend I'm not here," Jaehyun says when Donghyun shoots him a questioning look. "I am but part of the wallpaper." 

"No you're not," he rebuts, "What's happening?" 

"I'll take my leave now," Jaehyun announces loudly, already beginning to back out of the room, effectively evading Donghyun's question, "Call me back if you need anything." 

"I know that sometimes, you don't think you're worthy enough to be by my side," Bomin begins, directing Donghyun's attention on himself, "I wanted today to be special. A day where you could finally feel like royalty, since it is your greatest wish and one of the only things I can offer you." 

And then, Donghyun finally gets it.

He smooths over a wrinkle in the precious silk of the blue hanbok gratefully, picking at the delicate seams of the beads sewn into the garment. "Thank you," He says softly, resting his head on Bomin's chest. "Really, for everything." 

"Anything for you." Bomin squeezes his eyes shut as he revels in the quiet peace the moment brings, hooking his chin over the gentle swell of Donghyun's shoulder and quietly breathes in his scent, the one he's come to associate with home. "I'd pull all the stars from the sky and give them to you if it meant that you're happy." 

A year or so ago, if you had told Donghyun that he'd spend his 21st birthday with the Crown Prince, he would have laughed in your face. Prince Bomin, the bane of his existence, separated from him by a chasm so dark and deep that there was practically no end to it; spending one of the most important days of his life with him? Unlikely, he would have said, shaking his head, Completely unbelievable.

But now, as the butterflies in his stomach multiply with each press of Bomin's lips against his, the soft silk of the blue hanbok fluttering against his skin in the spring wind, Donghyun doesn't think that it is that unbelievable anymore. 

 

 

✩

 

Yet, somewhere in their forever, their time runs out.

Bomin awakes one night to a shrill scream. Jaehyun bursts into his room, bringing with him the chill of the spring air and instinctively, Bomin knows something is very, very wrong.

"Jeoha," he cries, falling to his knees in front of Bomin's  _yo_ , "You have to help him, please, you have to do something—" 

The sleep evaporates immediately from Bomin's eyelids and he stares at Jaehyun's hysterical form with alarm. "What's happening?" Jaehyun's next words are like ice coursing through his veins and Bomin leaps out of bed, wraps his coat around his shoulders and goes running to the dungeons. In his haste, he doesn't think to shut screen door, which remains wide open, letting in the chilly night air.

"The palace guards came by in the middle of the night and took him. I— I don't know why but it looked serious, and he resisted and they just took him. Please, you have to save Donghyun."

Behind him, the carefully constructed house of cards gives one final wobble and collapses in on itself.

 

 

When he finally reaches the dungeons, panting heavily from exhaustion, the surroundings are deathly quiet. 

It isn't hard to find Donghyun's cell. It is the only one that is heavily guarded, and the royal guards that stand around it freeze and point their spears at him as he approaches, heart thudding in his throat.

"Release him." Bomin nods towards the cell. "This is a royal order."

The guard in front shakes his head. "My apologies, Jeoha. Princess Dabin instructed us to keep him locked inside and not to give in to you if you came by and told us to let him out."

"I am the Crown Prince," Bomin barks, drawing himself up to his full height, "You will listen to me and you  _will_ let him out!"

You may dress a fool in a King's clothes and sooner or later, he will begin to act like one. You may spend your years teaching a dog that it is a cat and it will eventually think it is one and act accordingly.

He is no exception. His voice is authoritative, commanding and powerful, filling the space and forcing the guards to look down in trepidation, years of training and observation finally paying off when he needs it the most.

The guard hesitates, looking to the other guards flanking him on the left and the right. "Jeoha, we cannot directly defy Princess Dabin's orders. We may let you speak to the prisoner, but we cannot let him out."

Sighing, Bomin relents and signals for them to move out of the way.

This, they can do, and the guards obey all too gladly, scattering in all directions as he steps closer and flattens himself against the bars of the cell.

In the cell, on top of some hay that looked as if it were thrown in there carelessly, Donghyun sleeps fitfully, eyebrows knitted together in pain. His arm is curled around his abdomen almost protectively and his arms are littered with fresh bruises.

What makes Bomin's heart ache the most is Donghyun's face. Blood drips agonisingly slowly from a nick above his eyebrow and there is a trail of dried blood beginning from his mouth and ending at his collar, which is stained a dull crimson.

"Donghyun," Bomin croons softly, already feeling tears spring to his eyes, "Hyungnim."

Donghyun stirs, blinking blearily at Bomin. In spite of himself, he manages a weak smile and crawls slowly but steadily until they're a but a hair's width away, his unsteady breathing fanning out like a staccato across Bomin's face.

"Why'd you come down?" He grimaces as he shifts, the wound in his abdomen jostled slightly. "You shouldn't have, Jeoha."

"Not Jeoha, Donghyun, it's just Bomin to you. Remember?"

The flames flickering in the torches lined up against the wall casts looming shadows on Donghyun’s face, accentuating his gaunt cheekbones. Bomin's heart involuntarily aches for him.

If only they had more time.

"Tell me," Bomin says, too afraid to look into Donghyun's eyes and see the hate lingering there, "Do you regret it?"

His lower lip trembles and it takes him all of his strength to swallow his tears and appear strong in front of Donghyun, who might end up losing his life in less than 4 hours.

"No." Donghyun’s whisper is so soft, Bomin nearly misses it. "If I had the means to travel back in time, I would still choose to do it all over again.” He murmurs, eyes downcast as a bittersweet smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

The rough wooden bars of the cell dig into the soft skin on Bomin’s face, and it’s all too uncomfortable, but the fact that Donghyun is still alive reassures him and he leans in closer. Bomin holds out his hand and Donghyun takes it, interlocking their hands, which fit together like puzzle pieces.

As much as he'd like to stay awake, the adrenaline of the moment wears off and fatigue begins to catch up with him, so he dozes off with his head pressed in between the bars, leaning against Donghyun.

 

 

It isn't until sunrise that visitors come and Bomin's jolted away by the palace guard tapping him urgently on the shoulder.

"I should have known you would be here, Jeoha." A feminine voice echoes through the dungeons and Bomin turns to the source and glares at her with hate-filled eyes. 

Princess Dabin walks in gracefully, short heels clacking on the stone path as she positions herself in front of Donghyun's cell door. 

Prince Jibeom comes running in shortly after, wearing his pity about him like a shroud. He stands by the wall near the entrance, as if too fearful to walk into the midst of a tragedy he narrowly avoided.

"Move." Bomin rubs at the bridge of his nose between his eyes, as if talking to a petulant child who refuses to cooperate. "Let him go." 

"I cannot, Jeoha, please understand." Princess Dabin folds her arms in front of her hanbok. "He has committed a heinous crime. Yeonwoo told me that she caught him wearing the royal blue hanbok and that he had laid his hands on you inappropriately." She shakes her head. "I cannot let him go. He must be punished as the Emperor deigns." 

"And what does the Emperor think about all this?" Fury lines Bomin's features as he commands silence in the room, speaking with a powerful authority as the years of learning from his father had taught him. "Does he approve of sentencing a loyal subject to death by hanging— condemning an innocent servant?" 

"Jeoha, we all know he isn't _innocent_." Princess Dabin snaps. "Off all things— surely he was trying to seduce the crown! Why else would he try to get close to you?" 

"Did it never cross your mind that I initiated contact? Must it always be that the Crown Prince is faultless while the servant gets the blame?" 

"You seem to be implying that you are as much in the wrong as he is," Princess Dabin says, a warning glint in her eye, "But let me tell you now, Jeoha; two wrongs do not make a right, Jeoha! We cannot execute you too! See reason!" 

"Princess Dabin," Prince Jibeom says, hesitantly, "You mustn't do this. Killing the servant boy will not be beneficial for your reputation. If word gets out that you, Princess of Baekje, gave the order to kill someone that the Crown Prince himself objects violently to, things will spiral out of control."

"Enough, Prince Jibeom!" She spits ruthlessly, holding her head up high. "It is better that you know not to speak now or I will doom you and your servant boy as well! I am not blind— I know what is going on behind my back!" 

Meekly, Jibeom quietens down. Yet Bomin doesn't blame him. He'd choose Donghyun any day as well. 

"I say, stand back!" Prince Bomin orders as the guards step forward and Donghyun startles, his chains a clanking cacophony as he jumps. "You do not get to touch him!"

"Listen to yourself, Jeoha! Do you not sound like a man trying desperately to save his estranged lover?" Princess Dabin is hysterical, her hair flying out of its knot at the back of her head as she stamps her foot. "We must execute him and we will today! We came here to take one life, but if we must, we will take yours too!"

"Jeoha, it will do you no good to argue with her— Bomin, _please,_ do not carelessly throw your life away for me," Donghyun pleads, "I pledge guilty. I swear before you, gongjunim, and confess to my crimes— for seducing the Prince, for stealing his royal garb— just do not let him throw away his life."

Bomin watches Donghyun with growing horror. "Do not just say things like that—"

"He has confessed it!" Princess Dabin smiles like one who knows they have won, gently dabbing the sweat off her brow with a lacy handkerchief. "We now have all the proof to execute him! Such vermin should never have allowed to roam the palace."

Bomin looks to Donghyun and their eyes lock onto each other, and slowly, Donghyun shakes his head. Bomin drops to his knees and crawls back towards the cell with the aura of someone defeated; not because he has truly given up, but because he knows that his love cannot protect them both from the fate that awaits them. 

"Give me a moment. Just allow me one last moment with him." 

He doesn't wait for those assembled to take their leave before he's frantically grasping at Donghyun's hanbok, pressing a kiss to his lips with fervour, knowing that this will be their last.

The kiss tastes salty and his fingers come away wet when he reaches up to dab at his own cheeks, laughing bitterly as the gravity of the situation weighs heavily upon him. 

"Hey now," Donghyun whispers, “Don’t cry for me.” He caresses bomin’s cheek lovingly, swiping his thumb across his cheekbone to wipe away the tear that had begun to roll down his face. Bomin leans into his touch, scrunching up his eyes in pain.

“Listen to me,” Donghyun repeats, gazing softly into Bomin’s eyes, “Don’t be sad because it’s ending. Smile because it happened.” Bomin reaches out his hand and Donghyun slowly interlaces their fingers together.

"Somewhere down the line, I promise we will meet again, in a different place, a different time, a different life," Bomin whispers with complete conviction, keeping this promise between them two only, pressing his forehead to Donghyun's through the bars of the small cramped cell, "Wait for me. You know I don't break my promises, right?"

"I do." There is a pregnant pause. "I don't want to die." Donghyun casts his tear-filled eyes to the ground.

"I don't want you to die either."

"But I must." He shushes Bomin before he can say another word of protest. "Promise me that you'll live happily. You'll remember me for the good times we shared only, and not this way. Not the end. Promise me this, and don't break it."

"I won't." 

Bomin is shoved aside harshly as Princess Dabin's heels come clicking back in.

Their time is up. 

The palace guards storm into the cell and grab Donghyun by the arms roughly, ignoring his whimpers of pain as wounds that never really recovered in the span of one day are jostled and reopen. 

"Bring him to the gallows!" Princess Dabin's eyes are blazing with a bright intensity as she gives the command. Prince Jibeom moves forward to hold Bomin back as he leaps at her with the strength of a crazed man.

"What are you doing?" He hisses and Jibeom shakes his head.

"It's been decided. She's gotten the permission from the Empress herself— there is nothing you can do now but to live out his last wishes." 

Bomin slumps to the ground, the blood all drained out of his face. "So that's the end, then? I couldn't protect him." 

"Take solace that his death is honourable. People will pass down tales of the martyr who died for his love, a lowborn who knew the rules of the game and dared to play it despite the danger." Prince Jibeom smiles sadly. "Much unlike the cowardly Prince who gave up his love for fear of what would happen." 

"Take him to his chambers and do not let him out until sun-high!" Princess Dabin orders, pointing to Bomin. "Jeoha, this is for your good. It is the only way you will not stop the execution of the lowborn. It must be done."

 

  

For a split second as they are both hauled unceremoniously out of the dungeons— two different people going two different places for two different reasons, they exchange one final love-filled glance, and despite everything, Donghyun smiles and mouths a final teary "I love you". 

The second passes and time moves on, Bomin being brought to his room and barred from leaving, the sound of clanking metal chains reverberating in his head, haunting him at every turn.

 

 

Somewhere in the afternoon, Jaehyun slips in, face streaked with tears.

It takes Bomin one look to know that the love of his life is gone and will never, ever return.

He collapses on the ground with an agonised howl, tears flowing uncontrollably. The gyre in his chest tightens painfully and he curls into himself, hands fisting in the cloth of his hanbok. With each clench of his heart, Bomin is reminded of the empty space that now sits there, the love of his life torn ruthlessly out of his grasp, his world falling apart around him just as it had been at its prime.

Nothing is said between the two of them, the silence punctuated by his hiccups.

"I had to be there— even if I didn't want to, I had to." Jaehyun says eventually, looking at the Prince with big, tearfilled eyes. "I couldn't let him die alone."

"He loved you to the end," Jaehyun continues, "Even until the wooden stool was kicked away, he looked to your spot under the gingko nut tree and smiled."

Bomin clutches his chest, the thought of Donghyun bravely smiling through his fear and holding onto the memories they'd made together too much to bear, his heart splintering into a million tiny jagged pieces.

"It hurts so much, Jaehyun," he gasps, chest heaving for air, "It hurts so much I could just die."

"Don't. He told you to stay alive, he made you promise to live happily, didn't he? Honour his death by living up to that promise." Jaehyun wipes his tears on his sleeve. "And don't ever forget Donghyun."

 

  

Prince Bomin never does. Even after years have passed, and he is no longer the energetic, strong youth he was before, the now-turned Emperor pays visits to the grave of a lowborn, in a small village tucked away into the side of a coast, every season without fail.

The kingdom is captivated by the melodramatic story of a lowborn and a Crown Prince who once fell in love and beat all odds to be with each other, even if they do not know the true ending of the story. 

 

  

"Daewang, do not move," Jaehyun advises, now much, much older, "You are ill and weakened, please stay in bed." Time has not been unkind to them; as if making up for a past wrong, Bomin flourished as the Emperor, bringing much wealth and stability to the nations. He earned much devotion from the people, whom he treated with respect and kindness, almost like equals, just as Donghyun had taught him.

"I must sit under the gingko nut tree," Bomin says, voice cracking at the end, "The _mugunghwa_ is exceptionally beautiful at this time." 

Jaehyun shakes his head and sighs. The King took ill this fall and is delirious with fever. He does not know that it is winter.

"Daewang, there is no  _mugunghwa_ at this time. There is still a long way to go before spring blesses us with her presence once again." Worry is evident in the ageing lines of Jaehyun's face. Bomin's condition has only gotten progressively worse. He knows there isn't much longer for their King, and the kingdom will be thrown into chaos choosing the next heir, considering that the King never married.

"Is that so?" The King gives a great shuddering breath and relaxes against his pillow. "Then I may never see the  _mugunghwa_ again." 

"Daewang?" 

In a rare moment of clarity, the King speaks. "I know I don't have much time left." He turns to Jaehyun, and suddenly, he can see the scared young boy that the King once was, so many years ago reflected back at him. "Please, when I die, grant me this last wish. Bury me next to him, and hide my paintings within the castle. I have kept them a secret from Princess Dabin all this while; if she finds out I have them, she'll order for them all to be burnt." His eyes alight with an intensity Jaehyun has not seen ever since he'd fallen ill. "You mustn't let her destroy them." He coughs loudly. 

"They are the last memories of him that I have." He coughs again. "I miss him." 

His eyes flicker to Jaehyun's face, his line of eyesight shifting after a few heartbeats to roam all over the room, looking but not quite seeing, and Jaehyun knows that it is time. 

"Sleep, Daewang, and you will see him again." Jaehyun advises gently. "You have done well." 

Nodding, Bomin allows his eyes to slip shut, lips curving up into a peaceful smile that hasn't been there for a while too painfully long to try and remember. 

 

He breathes his last breath with only Jaehyun by his side. 

 

Outside, in the dead of winter, the snow falls heavily, thudding against the walls as cries of grief rise and the kingdom stirs to mourn the death of a kind, lonely King who gave all for the one he loved but could not protect him in the end.

They can only wish that somewhere, somehow, there are two boys, one clothed in a midnight blue hanbok and the other in a baby pink, sharing red bean  _tteok_ under the gingko nut tree, watching the  _mugunghwa_ bloom eternally. 

 


	2. of blue roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [epilogue] centuries later, they meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you may listen to [this](https://youtu.be/y72_r33ca88)!

_「 and if the next life won't grace me with you, i will love you to the next one_ 」

 

 

✩

 

When he was younger, Bomin lived a carefree life. He would run around at home, playing with their pet poodle and doodling in his sketchbook whenever he felt like it.

He dreamt of becoming a great artist, one whose fame and talents could rival that of Pablo Picasso or Vincent Van Gogh.

But as the responsibilities began to accumulate gradually, he eventually had to push aside his freedom and trade in his worn crayons for artist pens and pencils.

He sighs heavily, scratching out ideas on his sketchpad as he leans his weight against the counter, ideas floating around in his mind but not quite connecting together that will form a piece worthy enough to save his final grade.

“Professor Jangjun is a bit of a dick,” he grumbles to Jibeom, catching him in the midst of hanging his oversized winter coat on the coat rack by the staff door. “He knows I don’t pay attention in art class, yet he wants me to create an artpiece worthy of the opening ceremony of the art gallery. And it's due in two weeks. I can't do anything in two weeks.”

Jibeom whistles lowly and Bomin narrows his eyes at him. In absolutely no way did  _that_ sound remotely sympathetic. “I'm sure you can," he shrugs, "You do work best under pressure.” Jibeom takes his time to think of an example, lazily continuing to unpack his bag and tie the staff apron around his waist. ” Remember that piece you did for your portfolio?”

Bomin does remember. Only a little bit, anyway.

He remembers chugging down a sludgy, suspicious-smelling mix that was probably a mix of Redbull, Monster and a double-shot espresso and proceeded to run on that and a minimum of an hour’s sleep to finish painting on time.

His memory is a bit hazy after that, but Jibeom doesn’t fail to remind him that he had begun crying while painting the gradient of white to blue extending from the centre of each individual rose petal and when roughly shaken by the shoulders, he began addressing Jibeom as if they were both princes from Goryeo.

This, he does not remember.

All in all, astral-planing so hard into a possible alternate reality was worth it. His piece did get him admitted into his dream university and won him 500 dollars when they subsequently submitted it for a competition.

So maybe he does work well under pressure.

“I never understood how exactly you do it—” Jibeom pauses midsentence to smile winningly at a customer scurrying in to avoid the bitter winter cold, “Like the blue rose. How did you come up with that in like three days?”

Bomin shrugs. “Google’s my best friend.”

What he doesn’t tell Jibeom is that the blue rose didn’t just come from Google.

Every night, ever since he was a little boy no older than 7, he dreams of blue roses, baby blue hanboks and falling starlight woven into laughter and a smile brighter than the sun he wakes up to in the morning, sweating and feeling like he’s lost something very important.

Occasionally, he’ll be roused from his sleep at twilight, when the stars blink down from the dark skies above and Jibeom’s snores are the only thing punctuating the silence— he’ll feel aged beyond his years, almost as if he’s someone entirely different.

There was a time when Bomin would wake up, paint splattered across the wall, taking the vague shape of the old, gnarled gingko tree in Gyeongbokgung. Painted blue roses and  _mugunghwa_ bloom across his arms, intertwining as they wind along the skin of his wrists.

Now, he doesn’t wake up to find that he’s painted a universe in his sleep, but the mysterious figure who haunts his dreams doesn’t disappear.

The doctors say that you dream to remember. But how is he remembering memories that aren't even his? 

He drums his fingers against the counter as Jibeom leaves to attend to the customers, completely unsatisfied with Bomin’s dry answer.

Bomin doesn’t quite know how to express the frustrations that come with the dreams. It isn’t that they recur every night— it is the startling  _realness_ of the dream that makes it seem more of a memory than a figment of his imagination.

He takes the order of a baby-cheeked customer and absentmindedly prepares their drinks, calling to Jibeom to take over his shift as he bustles into the cold.

 

 

 

✩

 

If there’s one thing Donghyun hates, its moving around during winter. The frosty air nips at his cheeks and makes his nose run uncomfortably, and there’s nothing more that he wants to do than to stay indoors in the thickest sweater he owns with a mug of hot cocoa by the heater.

But he has to finish his thesis. Problem is, he hasn’t even started on it. He doesn’t even know what he’s going to base it on, which is precisely why he’s coaxed Jaehyun out with him into the cold to offer some insight into this daunting task.

5 minutes later finds him hurriedly stepping over the threshold into the quaint little cafe not more than 10 minutes walking distance from the art building, waiting for Jaehyun to finally show his face.

He’s probably overslept. Again.

Donghyun sighs and swings his legs up on the table. He’s got a million and one things to get done, and that includes a research piece for history, which has been weighing heavily on his mind.

Carefully extracting his phone from his pocket, he texts Joochan.

 

 **ddong:**   **  
** _hey what shld i do for my thesis_ _  
__casual reminder that im a history major_

 

It doesn’t take Joochan long to reply.

 

 **joodumb:  
** _idk bro u r on ur own_

 

The tiny speech bubble pops up as Joochan types another reply, the dots in the ellipses dancing before his eyes.

 

 **joodumb:**   **  
** _actly u shld check out this thing called passion of the cut sleeve_  
_there r new discoveries about it and i know u wanna check it out_

 

He squints at his phone in confusion.

 

 **ddong:**   **  
** _sounds like a gang_ _  
__why tf would i be interested_

 

 **joodumb:**   **  
** _its hella gay_ _  
__like u_

 

Donghyun snorts.

That does interest him, as much as it pains him to admit that Joochan is, for once, right.

 

 **ddong:**   **  
**_thanks bro_

 

“Donghyun! Sorry I’m late!” Jaehyun gasps, skidding to a halt beside his table. Donghyun feigns nonchalance. “I was in the library studying—”

“Studying?”

“—alright, sleeping.” Jaehyun relents, “I did get in some research, though. I now have a whole bunch of facts on your favourite colour to throw at you.”

“I want a caramel macchiato, extra whipped cream.” Donghyun says instead, “You can tell me the colour facts about blue later.”

Jaehyun side-eyes him with dissatisfaction. “I’m only getting you something now because I was late and my mother didn’t raise me to be rude.”

He comes back with a receipt and a card with the giant number 19 scrawled on it and slides both onto the table, slinging his bag onto the ground and plonking himself down onto the seat opposite Donghyun's. “The barista’s cute.”

Donghyun raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a crush on the kid in the front row of our math class?”

“I do,” Jaehyun admits a little too easily, and Donghyun gags openly, “But this kind of cute was cute. You know, baby-face? Totally your type. You'll see when he brings the drinks over later.”

“I don’t have a type,” Donghyun balks, affronted.

Jaehyun gives him a Look and he raises his hands defensively.

"Come on, all the people you've had a crush on so far have all been taller than you, younger than you, and have this sort of baby-faced young look to them." Jaehyun smirks smugly as he brings out his English textbook, tapping the side of his forehead. "I'm smarter than you think I am."

Donghyun's jaw slacks and hangs open as he stares at Jaehyun. "I— No I don't!"

Their conversation is interrupted when the barista comes over to put their drinks down on the table. "One caramel macchiato and one iced Americano?" Kim Jibeom, the kid who sits in the front row of their math class, recites their order from memory, smiling politely at them. His hair is slightly wet and swept up stylishly to one side. Roy Kim's latest song plays softly in the background and Jaehyun clams up immediately, dropping his textbook on the floor with a loud thud.

"That's our order," Donghyun barely manages to stifle his laughter.

Once Jibeom disappears behind the counter again, he actually does laugh out loud, pointing his finger at Jaehyun, who's blushing a violent red.

"Shut up!" Jaehyun hisses, "This isn't funny! I swear it was a different guy earlier!"

"How lucky for you," Donghyun teases, sticking his tongue out childishly at his best friend, "He must've just changed shifts. Now you get to see your longtime crush serve you drinks."

“Why am I friends with you,” Jaehyun wails miserably, “You just like to watch me suffer!”

Donghyun pays him no heed, taking a sip from his caramel macchiato. There’s a strange niggling feeling that remains at the back of his mind— as if he’s just barely missed something much, much more important than he realises.

 

 

✩

 

As the setting sun casts a golden glow on the empty canvas on the easel in front of Bomin, he sighs again, the sound echoing in the empty room.

It’s been weeks since the assignment was assigned and still, he doesn’t know what to do. He sends a quick text to Jibeom informing him that he won’t be getting back home in time for dinner then picks up his brush, swirling it in a sad blob of red paint.

Inspiration still doesn’t hit and Bomin’s head falls to the (hopefully) clean tabletop with a loud thunk.

The fatigue from the difficult day he had finally catches up with him, his eyelids sliding shut as he yawns loudly.

His systems shut down, his subconscious bringing him back to an all-too-familiar palace in Goryeo where the pale pink  _mugunghwa_ are in eternal bloom.

He’s vaguely aware of the warmth of someone else’s hands on his, fleeting touches that don’t quite feel real leaving tingling sensations on his arms. He opens his eyes in the dream, revelling in the sight of two warm eyes so full of love he cannot possibly have made up, and the face of someone he knows he hasn't seen before, but feels like he's shared countless of lifetimes with.

The other boy sweetly swings their intertwined hands, lips forming Bomin's name as he calls to him, shuffling closer until they're both wrapped in a tight hug, basking in the warmth of their love that transcends centuries.

The sun hangs in the sky like a blazing ball of fire, the sunshine falling softly onto the other boy’s face, illuminating his features with a magical glow.

Everything is calm and peaceful like it should be.

“Don’t go. Stay a little while longer,” The boy’s voice is not particularly loud, but it resonates within the dream, echoing around in Bomin’s head.

Bomin brushes the pad of his thumb across the boy’s cheekbone. “We’ll build a forever for the two of us,” he murmurs, words flowing and mouth moving on their own, “I promise.” The words are said with a time-old familiarity as if he’s said them over and over again, clinging to his skin like a mantra that the universe remembers.

Even if he himself does not.

The spring wind blows gently, bringing with it the scent of the  _mugunghwa_ that wraps around them, so sweet and tangible that it cannot possibly be a figment of his imagination.

Just as Bomin wishes he could hold onto this moment forever, the dream begins to get fuzzy, dissolving at the peripherals of his vision and he clutches at the sleeves of the boy’s hanbok desperately.

Everything blurs as his hands slip right through as if the boy wasn’t there in the first place and he is yanked away by gleaming silver chains clanking menacingly as a cry of pain escapes his lips. Desperation swirls in Bomin’s stomach. He strains against the chains tugging him further and further into reality and tries to latch onto the wisps of the dream still left, trying to claw his way back to save this boy whom he knows he just has to—

Bomin wakes up gasping. His heart is racing and he feels like he’s just fallen off a skyscraper, arms and legs aching terribly. The taste of his blood is strange and tangy, bleeding from where he’d bitten his bottom lip too hard in his sleep.

He’s still sprawled on the table in the art room, head in his hands, the tarpaulin stretched across the oak wrinkled beyond repair from where he’d begun thrashing around in his sleep. Quickly, while  _his_ face is still fresh in his mind, Bomin picks up his brush with renewed vigour, lowering it down onto the canvas repeatedly to bring a memory to life with the slow, steady strokes of his paintbrush.

Finally, at dawn, as the sun begins to rise, bringing with it the sweet promises of a new beginning, Bomin falls asleep at his easel.

The wet paint drying on the canvas almost glows golden when the morning sun hits it, accentuating the orchid blue hanbok painted onto a frail boy with a smile sweeter than honey.

For the first time in his life, Bomin’s slumber is dreamless.

 

 

✩

 

“So how’s the research coming along?” Joochan asks, a singular shelf of books filling the space between Donghyun and himself.

The boy in question scoffs, skimming his fingers over the spines of the books. “This is all your fault. I can’t change my research question after I’ve shown Professor Lee the draft.” He groans. “Other than that one article you referred me to, I can’t find anything about Emperor Choi and his servant lover.”

“Okay, but why are we here then?” Joochan pulls a book off the shelves and flips through it quickly. “I don’t get it— why not just google the entire thing?”

“Because Professor Daeyeol likes books and his eyes sort of  _twinkled_ when I said I was doing my research here.” Donghyun shrugs, knowing exactly how silly that sounds. He promises it sounded better in his head. “I don’t know, maybe I can actually find something useful.”

He pulls the next book his fingers touch off the shelves. It's titled  _Blue; A Memoir_. A second glance at the back tells him that it was written by an alleged servant at the time, their story passed down for centuries until it was finally translated into the thick, hardcover book he holds in his hands today.

Flipping it open to the middle, he begins to read.

 

_What I came to learn in time, is that you cannot separate a dryad from its tree, or it will die._

_As days passed and the seasons flew, the Emperor only grew weaker. His mind was no longer with us by the time winter came around. It was only a matter of time before he would eventually leave us. His tree was uprooted a long time ago, and to have him live this long without him, it was truly a miracle, but I suppose it killed him a little bit inside every day_.

_Emperor Choi lived out his days as a benevolent Emperor. He ruled with kindness and warmth that did not manifest itself in the Emperors before him. He never married and has no heirs. I fear the conflict that is sure to arise from the advisors and from Princess Dabin and Prince J̶i̶b̶e̶o̶m̶i̶e̶  Jibeom. It will be a bloodshed much unlike anything ever seen._

 

“This looks promising. Get your ass here and read with me, Hong Joochan.”

Joochan tsks but runs around the bookshelf, snatching the book out of Donghyun’s hands to take a look at it for itself. “Oh, hey! It’s this story!”

“What story?”

"It's said to be written by Emperor Choi's head servant, hidden deep within the palace so that it couldn't be found by the wrong person and destroyed." Joochan laughs. "They only found this when they were reconstructing some parts of the palace that had been falling apart you know, I believe that it was found near Prince–" 

"Okay," Donghyun interrupts impatiently, "So it was some sort of secret journal or some shit, but how exactly is this relevant to me or my research?" 

“Emperor Choi wasn’t famous only for snipping off his sleeve just so his lover could sleep, you know,” Joochan laughs, slamming the book shut with a loud  _thud_ , “He was a painter. Apparently, his servant lover was his _favourite_ subject, and I know that there are still searches underway to locate these paintings, which this book says are hidden all over the compound. It would probably help with your research if you could find some of these paintings, use them as picture sources.”

“And I can trust you on this because…?” Donghyun asks suspiciously. He isn’t going to trust Joochan’s credibility anytime soon, having known him for quite some time now.

“You're not trusting me, per se, you're trusting Professor Jangjun." Joochan points out. "We looked into his life briefly for art history. I just didn’t think it was the same King.” He pouts. “Archaeologists found a rolled up scroll at his burial site. It was a painting— really well preserved, might I add— and they deduced it must have been the servant boy he was buried right next to.” Joochan furrows his eyebrows suddenly, peering closer at Donghyun’s face. “Hey, come to think of it, you look a little like hi—”

“Where can I see this painting?” Donghyun interrupts hastily. “If I can get a picture and attach it to my report, Professor Daeyeol’s going to be so psyched.” He takes the memoir from Joochan. “I’m going to borrow this too.”

Joochan blinks, his previous train of thought broken. “I think they shifted the painting already, sorry.” Then, he snaps his fingers. “Wait! I know what you can do!”

Donghyun turns to Joochan with a look of pure bewilderment. Joochan slings the bag over his shoulder down to the floor and rummages through it quickly. “Here,” he explains, pressing a ticket band into Donghyun’s palm. “I was going to give this to Jaehyun or something, but you should use it.”

“Why? What would I do going to an—” Donghyun squints at the fine print on the label, “—art gallery? I’m not an art major.”

“I am. Aren’t you my best friend? You’ve got to support me.” Joochan sniffs, turning his nose up at Donghyun. “That’s beside the point. I have a junior, he’s really talented— I think he’s doing an interpretation of King Choi’s painting. I saw it when I walked past the art room yesterday morning.”

Joochan beams brightly. “Rest assured, if there’s one person who’ll have a picture of King Choi’s painting, it’s him." He stands, brushing off imaginary dust particles off his pants. "Come on, I want to take you to Gyeongbokgung palace today."

"What for?" Donghyun stands anyway, turning the book over and over in his hands.

"I'm going to give you a crash course about Emperor Choi." Joochan coughs awkwardly into his palm, eyes darting away sheepishly. "As much of it as I remember anyway. Professor Jangjun chased me out halfway for shouting  _no homo bro_ in the middle of the lesson although it was, very much, homo." They move to the checkout counter where Donghyun hurriedly hands the book to the librarian to borrow it then shoves it haphazardly into his bag. "Gyeongbokgung palace is very pretty, especially in winter."

When they get there, Joochan leads Donghyun to the stone bench under the gingko nut tree in the gardens next to the rooms Emperor Choi must have used. They fish the old book out of Donghyun's bag and begin to read together, making small talk and taking down notes on the points that seem important. 

_You must be someone living in the palace to be able to understand that to be able to disregard everything, including their lives, for a few moments together underneath the gingko nut tree where the influence of power and wealth could not reach them was something much bigger than them both. Something much greater than what they could wrap their minds around._

_Something like love._

_Princess Dabin forbade us servants to speak of this incident. I still have scars from the one time I did in front of her— but that will not stop me from making sure their tale will live on forever._

_But please, if you have a moment, stop to think. Stop to remember two foolishly brave souls, who knew the rules of the game and dared to play it._

_Even if they lost in the end._

 

 

✩

 

“Well done.” Is the first thing Jibeom says when he walks into the art room and sees the finished masterpiece that sits by the window in the morning sun, drying. “Look at you, all grown up and actually finishing your work before it’s due.”

“That’s not for the opening ceremony,” Bomin protests, washing his brushes by the sink. “It’s private. My own thing.”

Jibeom traces a finger over the dried bumps of paint making up the hanbok with unconcealed awe. “It’s really pretty. Apparently, rumours are spreading that you reimagined an artpiece that used to be on display at the museum.” He winces. “Professor Jangjun heard. He wants you to show it. I think he’s even giving you a bigger space to work with now.”

Bomin curses, kicking his easel, then rushes forward to make it stand upright it as it teeters unsteadily. “Even if this is the centrepiece,” he gestures towards the aforementioned painting, “What can I paint around it? I don’t really have any ideas— this came to me in the middle of the night two days ago and the deadline’s only drawing closer and closer.”

“You’ve heard about King Choi, right?”

Bomin shuts up. He has. It was the only topic taught during an art lecture that remotely interested him, for reasons still unknown. There’s a sense of understanding that runs deeper than normal, and he found himself on the verge of tears as Professor Jangjun retold the simple but painful story of a King and his servant.

Jibeom laughed at him after that, so they don’t speak of him crying on that day.

“I have.”

“So, you understand him a little, right? Then try to portray what it was like for him. Imagine how they fell in love, what they would have done together and finally, how it all ended.” Jibeom says with a note of finality. “If you can do it, then, I think ideas will come easier to you.”

This leads Bomin on an impromptu trip to Gyeongbokgung Palace, his safe haven and the only place he's ever truly felt comfortable in, to get inspiration for the remaining pieces of his artwork that still has to be finished in less than a week. 

As he strolls through the gardens, stepping over stones and ducking under overhanging branches, he begins to mull over the situation. They would have started out as children, he decides. A Prince and his servant boy. He can almost see them climbing the gingko nut tree, swinging their legs from its branches as they share red bean  _tteok_ in the shade, away from prying eyes. A bittersweet smile tugs the corners of Bomin’s lips upwards.

He continues to walk along the worn stone paths, melting snow and ice crunching underfoot, and envisions two boys walking side by side where he stands. They would probably play tag, he supposes, running around and hiding from the other in good sport. From the corners of his vision, he spies the great swing and his feet move on their own accord towards it, bringing him closer and closer with each step he takes.

Bomin lifts a foot onto the swing, resting his weight on the old wooden plank that acts as a base and begins to swing back and forth with ease. It's queer, how his body knows exactly what to do to make sure he doesn't end up eating the dirt without having actually tried to swing on this traditional swing before in this lifetime of his. 

From where he is, he can see everything going on down below in the gardens. There are two people sitting on the stone bench (preserved since it was made in the Jin Dynasty) underneath the gingko nut tree, looking at the ducks swimming peacefully under the rickety wooden bridge extending across the small pond in the middle of the garden and he wonders, briefly, if the Prince and his servant ever sat down underneath the gingko nut tree and just enjoyed each other's company. 

Later that night, after he returns to his shared flat with Jibeom to sleep in his bed for the first time in a week, he sighs and drags his heavy feet to the bathroom to wash up. 

He's done enough character development on Emperor Choi to have ideas on what to paint, but what is lacking is the certainty that they'll add the extra  _oomph_ to complement the painting he's already done. 

He proceeds to prod at his skin in the mirror. A dreadful combination of the lack of sleep and stress leads his skin to be at its absolute worst. Then, as the lights flicker overhead, he notices something amiss about his reflection and leans in. 

It’s one of those times that he stares into the mirror on the wall and someone else looks back. In these fleeting moments, he doesn’t quite feel like himself— not the Choi Bomin who lives in 2018 and studies at Seoul University, but a Choi Bomin of another time, another place. 

He reaches a hand out to his reflection, staring into his eyes that aren’t exactly his own. He blinks and his reflection doesn’t even look like him, lines of age and sorrow sunken into his face. He is haggard, cheeks sunken in and age spots dotting the skin on his face. A hanbok is draped over his shoulders in his reflection and he looks old beyond his years, saddened and alone. He has seen a face similar to this on their dollar bills, in the textbooks, and yet he's never drawn the connection of the similarities between himself and Emperor Choi.

Bomin inhales sharply. He has never taken a stand on reincarnation.

But he has wondered, where do souls go when they die? Do they go to heaven? Or is there a possibility that they're reborn again, given a second chance to do over, to matar the saudade and rid themselves of age-old regrets that weigh them down? He doesn't dismiss the chance that he's only but half of a soul, come down again to look for his missing half, to right the wrong that's been wrought upon them. 

Then, as he thinks about it more, he decides that there cannot be any other logical explanation. How else would you explain the lingering feeling that he's missing a piece of the great jigsaw puzzle of life? The weird out-of-place feeling that he gets that only goes away when he visits Gyeongbokgung Palace, even though he was born and raised in Seoul?

The realisation comes gradually, a quiet, slow  _ah, so that’s who you are._

It's not that his dreams are memories that don't belong to him, but rather they're  _his_ memories, of a different time and a different place.  

 _That’s who_ I  _am._

 

 

 ✩

 

It's the morning of the opening ceremony and Donghyun is  _late_. He regrets ever calling Jaehyun out about his tardiness because– _fuck_ , _this must be karma_ – He's already missed the ribbon-cutting ceremony and he throws on a pale blue hoodie that was left lying on a chair beside his bed hurriedly, shoving his camera into his bag haphazardly in his haste to leave the house.

He ends up taking the stairs down two at a time, praying to any deity who will listen to such a miserable failure of a college student working on his research paper that the art gallery won't be too crowded by the time he gets there. 

His phone beeps insistently amidst the chaos of trying to leave his house and running towards the bus stop, and it's only when he manages to dash onto the bus, drop his bag down into an empty seat that he gets to catch his breath and answer the call. Unsurprisingly, Donghyun thinks, it's Joochan.

"Donghyun! Where are you!" Joochan ends up yelling at him through the phone and Donghyun panics, nearly dropping his phone in the process. 

He fumbles with it for a few heartbeats. "I'm sorry, okay? I overslept—" 

"—and you scold Jaehyun for being tardy all the time." Yeah, same. The irony is unbearable.

Donghyun can practically hear Joochan's eyeroll through the phone. "You know what, it doesn't matter." Joochan's voice is higher than it normally is and his exhilaration bleeds through his tone, even though he's obviously trying his best to hold it back. "You have to get here, quickly. Once you walk through the front doors, take a left and walk straight until you see me. Come support my artwork before you go traipsing off for your research." 

"Yeah, sure." Donghyun taps his bus card against the sensor and steps off the bus, standing in front of the art gallery with apprehension that he doesn't know why or where it's coming from. "I'm here. See you in a bit." 

"Okay," Joochan almost laughs, an airy sound escaping from his lips with a whoosh as he bids Donghyun a temporary goodbye. "Remember, hurry here, okay." 

Donghyun doesn't understand him most of the time, but he's here to get research for his thesis. Joochan's strange behaviour is a problem for another day. He steps in, weaving through the throng of people standing shoulder to shoulder, staring at large pieces of artwork on display. By the corner on the left, he can see Professor Daeyeol chatting with Professor Jangjun, so he takes a right, avoiding the both of them as much as possible. 

As he walks on, he realises that Joochan had told him to take a left instead of the right, but as he turns to change direction, a splotch of vibrant blue catches his eye. Slipping through the people surrounding the exhibit, he finds it's the one he was here to see in the first place. 

The name on the file holding the write-up reads ' _Property of Choi Bomin_ ' and Donghyun knows he's come to the right place. The name of the artist itself is eerily familiar but Donghyun chooses not to comment. It's probably a common name, much like his own. He steps forward, drawing his camera out from his bag and takes a few quick pictures of the paintings at the bottom. 

It's as his eyes slowly travel upwards to look at the centrepiece does he do a double-take, mouth hanging open in a slight  _O_.

That's definitely him. He's spent his years growing up familiarising himself with his own face, having stared at it in the mirror for the past 20 consecutive years, and this is drawn with startlingly great detail and care, from the almond-shaped eyes to the long, dark eyelashes framing his eyes prettily; even the slope of his nose is drawn with such precision that it is impossible that he does not know the artist personally.

Yet, he knows they've never met before. 

The name "Choi Bomin" doesn't ring a bell. He feels like it should.

Trembling, he takes a shaky step forward, eyes flickering to the rest of the paintings surrounding the painting of himself in a vivid orchid-blue hanbok. Upper-right is a simple painting of the beach, at the point where the waves crash against the shore, spraying sea foam everywhere; upper-left is a blue lacquered box holding small pieces of powdered red bean  _tteok_ much too sweet to be eaten, but savoured all the same. 

Bottom-left is a collection of bound books with blue covers, like the legends Prince Bomin would whisper to him in the safety of his chambers on nights where thunderstorms raged outside, both too immersed in the tales and each other's company to notice the scary flashes of lightning and loud peals of thunder outside.

Donghyun gives a small hiccup as the tears flow down his face freely.

These are memories, once forgotten, now resurfacing to the front of his mind. He remembers everything, from how it all began— from distant enemies to friends, playing on the swing together, running around in the gardens during winter; to his last breath— casting glances at the faint glow emanating from Bomin's quarters as apologies for leaving him behind run through his mind.

He adjusts the strap of his backpack over his shoulder and sighs, letting his eyes drift over the art piece. It's painfully beautiful, he concludes. Much like Emperor Choi and his lover. 

Bittersweet.

He sniffles. 

"Hey, you okay? Why are you—"

Without having to turn to look, Donghyun knows, just from the deep, rumbling baritone, that it's the one person he's been looking for across centuries. His heart thrums with a vibrancy he's never felt before, fireworks exploding in showers of sparks and joy within him. Through his tears, he takes a few slow steps to look at Bomin once again after far too many years have passed.

As the stark lights of the art gallery reflect off his eyes and bring out the gold flecks residing deep within the chocolate brown of his eyes, Donghyun smiles widely and giggles to himself. Oh, how he's missed this, being able to stand face to face with the boy he's grown to love with all his soul. 

"Hello again, Jeoha," Donghyun says, voice carrying over the noise of the other people in the art gallery, "It's nice to see you again." Everyone falls silent, watching the interaction between these two college students intently. 

Bomin says nothing at first, sparks of recognition gradually turning into a roaring flame, before sweeping Donghyun into a big hug. It's so much like Bomin to do something like this that Donghyun smiles widely, burying his nose into his shirt.

Everything has changed and still, nothing much really has changed. Bomin is still taller than him, squeezing his ribcage a little too tightly for comfort. They fit in each other's arms awkwardly, rusty from the lack of centuries worth of practice. But it doesn't matter.

Not when they have time. 

"I'm sorry," Bomin repeats, murmuring against Donghyun's hair, "I'm sorry I couldn't save you, I'm sorry for causing you to—"

Gently, Donghyun shushes him. "Don't say that. There was nothing you could have done. It's okay, we have each other now. We'll have this lifetime and possibly the next, and the one after that." 

“I'm not going to leave you. I'm not going to let you go.” Bomin declares softly only for the both of them two hear, breathing in Donghyun’s scent after far too long.

They remain locked in a tight embrace in front of the exhibition piece, unwilling to let go of the other. The people around them speak in hushed whispers, raising their cameras to photograph and document this precious moment shared in the unlikeliest of places, murmuring to themselves about fate and reincarnation. But none of this matters to the duo, both looking forward to spending this lifetime with each other. 

After a long pause, Donghyun pulls away slightly. "You kept your promise. We did meet, in another place, another time." Bomin gently uses his sleeve to wipe away the tear-tracks winding down his cheeks, like he did so many years ago under the gingko nut tree as the  _mugunghwa_ bloomed. 

He smiles. "You know I don't break my promises, right?" 

 

  

 ✩

 

Some people like the colour yellow. They say it represents sunshine or happiness, then bring up some philosophical bullshit about Vincent Van Gogh eating yellow paint to bring the happiness inside of him.

Donghyun begs to differ. His favourite colour is blue, because blue represents the seas of freedom, blue is the colour of blue hanboks and of blue roses. But most importantly, blue is Bomin. 

Blue is a forever in his arms.

 

 

 _「 and the next, and the next._ _  
_ _till death finally give up on us 」_

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/bomhyunism)
> 
> much love to annie (who taught me how to write a kiss scene), viv (who encouraged me and tried to help with the kiss scene) and nico (who gave me the name dabin)  
> and yes i know the kiss is like 2 lines. but i have never been kissed. i am sorry???  
>   
>   
>  _yo _— traditional korean mattress__  
>  _jeoha _— a formal way of addressing the Crown Prince__  
>  _wangsil _— royal house__  
>  _pat _— red bean__


End file.
